


Daddy Dearest

by fan_go_round



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Gore, Gore, This is not going to lighten up so dont expect a happy ending, Torture, lots of blood, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_go_round/pseuds/fan_go_round
Summary: What happens when Voltron falls into the hands of the Galra empire? The balance of power shifts all to Zarkon, leaving the fate of the universe and the Paladins in his hands.





	Daddy Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for the past year, and yes that's a horribly long time. I really felt the need for an outlet to express a lot of inner feelings and thoughts, and whats a better way than writing?

Lotor paced the confinement of his cell, like a caged animal awaiting its execution. He’s seen others suffer this fate more times than he could count, but to think he would share their position? The room smelled of disease and death when he got here, but now the smell has faded or maybe he’s grown used to the stench. The guards passed by his door like clockwork, some scoffed as they passed, others peaked in to speak their mind to the captive prince. Mentions of his half-breed blood being a weakness in the empire, and him being a disgrace to his father. Nothing new to him; what was new, was the patience his father has been showing.

Was it patience, though? Zarkon must have changed in his time away. Lotor stopped in the center of his cell when the sound of soldiers became louder. As expected, they stopped in front of his cell door. Lotor narrowed his eyes at their prolonged pause.

The door dispersed in a flash of purple, revealing more than Lotor anticipated; a platoon, one so large that Throk would have drooled to be at their command, stood in greeting.

“Vrepit Sa, Lotor.” The platoon split as the owner of the voice came closer. They stepped into the cell, sizing up the prince. Lotor could only imagine what the world must see him, the heir to the Galran throne treated like subpar quintessence and wallowing in his own filth.

“Zethrid,” Lotor smirked when he met her gaze, almost laughed at the idea of his misfortune. The two stood in silence waiting for the other to make a move before Zethrid took a step towards him.

“You’ve been summoned,” she said without a hint of remorse. Nothing hinting at her previous ties to him, even after their time together. She stood in perfect obedience, no growls of aggression that normally comes from her throat when confronting an enemy. That’s what Lotor is: an enemy to both his family and to his blood.

“Was it by Father,” Lotor asked before contemplating who could have high enough power to ask for an audience, “or was it his witch?” He sneered the last word, feeling his hate and discontent rise up from his gut. A few guards surround the prince, and forced him to his knees; Lotor heard the thud of his knees meeting the metal floor, feeling the pain burn in his bones. The guards smiled a bit when the prince was subdued and restrained.

“A trial, Lotor, nothing special”. Zethrid turned, a slight grumble came from her but was quickly drowned out by the soldier’s footsteps. Lotor was quickly dragged up to follow the marching unit; he stumbled, trying to keep up with the hurried pace, tripping over his heavy feet and tired legs.

The hallways all looked the same, the price of mass production, the disorientation was just an unplanned bonus. Lotor looked down the halls they passed. Soldiers crawled down the walkways in twos or threes, many of them mindless drones following a protocol. Those who haven't turned their attention to the army of footsteps making their way down the winding corridors, some even joined the march to see the prince’s trial. The thin worn soles caught on every crevice of the metal walkway. He could feel the soldiers start to lose patience as they kept shoving him with the butts of their guns, huffing under their breath before they grabbed him by his arms and dragged Lotor up the heart of the mob.

His silver matted hair fell into his vision as he struggled against their grip. His feet dragged uselessly behind him, too tired to attempt to hold his own body. Lotor blew the hair out of his face, only looking up to see the doors swing open to reveal a large open room. Zethrid leads the group in, her head held high like a cat dragging its prey back to its master. Everyone’s eyes traveled down the stream of soldiers before staring at their captive; Lotor stared back, watching them cover their mouths and whisper to each other.

The group stopped, saluting to Zarkon and Haggar, before dropping Lotor at the base of the thrones. He brought himself to a kneel, not looking his father in the eye. Lotor refused to give him the satisfaction of being looked down upon. The whispering continued, hushed words of “half-breed” and “mercy” were all that he could catch. He scanned the room through the strands of his hair, catching the gaze of Acxa. She stared blankly at him, not even a blink to break their eye contact.

“Lotor,” Zarkon’s voice calls the room to a silence. He stares holes into Lotor’s skin, Lotor tried to bring himself to stand but to no avail. A soldier forced him back to his knees, subjecting him to a position that his father wanted, below everyone else.

“You’ve shown your true colors to the Empire. Murder, treason, desertion all taint your name and blood,” he continued not pausing to give Lotor time to object, “it's clear that you are more of a nuisance than the coalition.” The whispering kicked back up when Zarkon brought up the extinct uprising.

“The end results were all in your favor, Father.” Lotor’s throat creaked with every word that left his mouth. Zarkon’s gaze narrowed as he spoke. “The rebellion is crushed and Voltron is finally in the Empire’s hands. There is no evidence that I didn't have a hand in--” Acxa stepped forward before the Lotor could get out the last words. Next, to her, Throk stood in the shadows, the smile plastered on his face told Lotor enough to understand the situation.

“Your Highness,” the rooms' attention turned to his former general “Lotor has done everything for his own gain” Zarkon adjusted his seat when she spoke.

“Do you have anyone else to confirm this,” Haggar spoke up before Zarkon could. Lotor shot a glance at his father, watching to see if there was a reaction, but was left hanging.

“It’s true,” Zethrid stepped in front of the rank, “he killed one of his own, but we’ve seen him, the whole empire has seen him manipulate others to further his own plans. He can’t be trusted”. She couldn't help growling an emphasis on the last words, filling them with disdain to the former prince.

The attention turned back to Lotor, but their stares clawed at his flesh making him shift and cast glances at the onlookers. Disgust stained more than their eyes, but their upturned nose and curled lips said it all.

“Do you have anything to say about this, Lotor.” He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, reminding that him that this is not a dream. He returned his gaze to the monster on the throne, staring back into his eye; everything was ruined by that witch, his body and his eyes were all her doing.

“I did this for you, daddy dearest.” Lotor lifted his head higher to prove his point.

The surrounding floor began to glow with fluorescent purple. Lotor got up to move out of the glowing light, but his legs went out underneath him. Haggar’s arms were stretched out before the crowd, her hands slowly lowering to the ground and Lotor’s movement followed. His knees popped under the strain, but Lotor refused to make a sound. He could feel his jaw clench and his lungs start to collapse under the stress. Lotor glared at his father and the witch, knowing that they enjoy punishing him for his insubordination.

The surrounding voices turned to snickers, but his father’s voice rang out the clearest,

“If you want to side with Champion, you can be treated like him”

* * *

 

Lotor was dragged back to his cell when the trial was called to an end if you could call it a trial. The room was now bare, the cloth from his bed was ripped to shreds and the cot was gone. Lotor turned to look out into the hall before the door materialized in the opening. He sat on the floor, his thoughts drifted to his father’s final words, confirming his sentence.

The doors opened later. Was it the same day, or even the same hour? No guards directed the stream of prisoners that passed him; everything was a sea of purple bodies, many of which were struggling to stay upright, following the flow down the hall. Lotor stood up to join them, the nasty pull of the unknown was too much to deny. The winding walkways seemed all too familiar, but nothing can be trusted at this point especially with that witch at his father’s side.

Then a flash of color, peach, and blue stood out against the drowned out world. Lotor pushed through the crowd of torn cloth and rank smells to search for the familiar.

“Ezor” Lotor’s voice was nearly drowned out by the shuffles of feet, but she heard anyways. His voice raspy, straining over the crowd of murmuring confusion Her head turned, seeking out the voice she once tried to forget. Ezor’s eyes meet his, full of relief, making him feel more than a pile of rot.

The push of the guards directed the growing crowd down constricted hallways. Warm bodies pressed oxygen out of Lotor’s lungs, making his body ache and heart race. Everything around him pressed in, further and further till the people became a living cage, trapping him from escaping.

Then the walking stopped, the group came to a standstill, waiting for the doors before them to open. They were corralled and cornered. Grit dug into his thin soles, every inch of his skin itch and crawl. Filth covered him, inside and out. There was no escape from the dirt, there was no escape from fate.

The doors opened like the gates to heaven; the glow of light mimicked the pull of paradise, but Lotor knew that hell lay beyond.  

The dingy vomitory was their next destination. The gates opened, and guards grabbed a handful of the prisoners, and ushered them into the open ring, before closing them to their end.

The crowds all leaned forward in their seats, watching in anticipation as the group was forced on to the sandy arena. The crowd roared when Champion was seen on the other end, his contoured form only fueled the bloodthirsty shouts of the spectators. Lotor tried to see over the bobbing heads, everyone trying to get a glance at their possible end, knowing that just beyond the gate was the black paladin who once fought for freedom against the Galra empire. Now, he's nothing but a plaything for the Emperor’s entertainment.

Lotor looked on, the Champion scanned the open arena, a lion looking for a challenger or the possibility of prey. A scream was all that marked the beginning of the bloodbath. The bravery of the prisoners vanished as quickly as the blood soaking into the sand. Many backed away from the gate, some tried to run, others cowered in the discarded rags of the fallen. Ezor just stood at the bars, looking onward, knowing that they are all fated to meet the lion’s jaws.

Another prisoner shrieked as they were grabbed, the sound of the struggle was enough to make Lotor wince. They all know their fate.

“Fuck, you little shit,” the sound of a slap resonated off the walls. The screaming continued, their bare feet struggled to find purchase on the clotted sand. The gates opened, and the guards threw the ragged figure to the arena floor. The door came back down, blocking them from ever returning to safety.

The guard passed by, his arm blooded by the prisoner’s desperate attempts to escape, swearing before smearing the wall with the blood.

“How long do you think this one will last?”

“30 GAC this one will die slower,” one spoke up over the others. The guards laughed as they looked at the unfortunate soul, who flung themselves at the bars, begging to be let in, selling themselves for everything they’re worth for a chance at mercy.

The guard ended up losing their 30 GAC.

The numbers dwindled more than usual, half of the prisoners bled out on the sand. The rest have stopped praying to their gods for help. No one was coming to save them.

“Do you think you’re next, Lotor?” Ezor’s voice wasn't above a whisper. Lotor didn't know, and he didn't like not knowing. The blood of the last death made its way through the bars, covering the prisoners in the salty spray.

The Champion heaved the lifeless body towards the crowd, giving them all the thrill they desired. He barely held himself straight, panting with exhaustion and sweat leaving his skin sticky.

“Before our celebration ends, I have a treat for you all,” Zarkon’s voice rang out over the roar of the crowd, “Our very special guest has been watching from the shadows, why don't we invite them into the ring.”

The gates opened at the Emperor’s command, beckoning Lotor out to face the end, in front of the crowd and under the watchful eye of his father. He took a step forward.

“His Highness is talking about the other half-breed,” the guards pinned the tip of his spear into his chest. Blood started to bloom from the wound, pushing Lotor back into the darkness. Ezor looked at him; her breath picking up when she took a backed away from the crowd.

They took a step away from lotor, closing in on their target. Lotor just watched, there was nothing he could do.

“Lotor!” Ezor’s screech sounded like nails across a chalkboard. The guards grabbed her by the arms, avoiding her kicks and flailing appendage, dragging her forward. She continued to call out his name, asking for his help and trying to get a reaction from him. Lotor couldn’t help, even if he tried; she knew that they all knew that. The struggling continued as the heaved her into the center of the ring. Ezor kept looking back at Lotor, continuing to plead for his help before looking at the crowd.

She bit at the gloved hands, trying to get past the tough leather, trying anything to get out of their firm grasp.

“Lotor’s beloved general, the only one that hasn’t let go of their shared disgrace. Let’s see how your weak blood serves you now,” The crowd jeered in unison, swearing their hatred for others like Lotor.

He took a step forward, more like a shuffle, his body telling him to stand behind her and fight against the empire that he swore to rule, while his mind was yelling that there is nothing that can be done to change their ways.

Champion whipped around, gaze narrowing at their offering. He pulled back his lips in a snarl, or was is a bloodthirsty smile. Those were not eyes of the Black Paladin; they were wild, they were the all the witch’s doing.

‘Let this be a lesson for those who oppose my rule. The empire has no place for insubordination.” The guards forced Ezor to her knees, shackling her to the floor by a collar. The struggling stopped. It was over. A true testament to the Galras’ tactics, chain the weak down and feed them to the strong.

The guards turned away from Ezor, making their way back to the shadows, laughing and mocking her screams. The door closed behind them, cutting Lotor off from ever taking Ezor’s side.

“Shiro! Shiro, listen,” Lotor hoarse yelling wasn't loud enough, he tried harder, “Shiro, don’t let that witch control you. SHIRO! Think of Keith!” Nothing was getting through. Shiro had only one thing on his mind: the death of the girl in front of him.

The Champion stalked over to the restrained form. His weapon trailed in the sand, grit sticking to the drying blood. He brought it down swiftly, he nearly missed. Ezor’s scream rang out from the ring; the sound clawed at Lotor’s throat, bile following after it.

Lotor looked up, it wasn't that bad, there is a way he could stop this. A thousand lies raced through his mind. Ezor’s extension twitched next to her, blood pouring out of the cut, pulsing with her racing heart and covering her back and neck. Lotor could hear her labored panting. She was going to get through this. Father is just throwing his weight around. There is something he wants out of her, information, loyalty, maybe this is a ploy to break him.

Shiro looked up, making eye contact with Lotor. He brought the butt of the weapon down on to her leg, hard. Lotor couldn’t hear the crack, there wasn't anything over the yells and cheers of the crowd, but Lotor felt it.

“Not as tough as you look, eh?” One of the guards scoffed when Lotor let go of his guts. He’s seen things this brutal, he’s participated in them more than he can count, why does this one bother the most? The actions of the Champion blurred into muffled grunts, Ezor soon followed; nothing mattered anymore.

Ezor’s muffled second scream brought the world back to color, the end of it turned to sobs.

“Please, Zarkon have some mercy,” she could barely get the last words out over the hiccups. Lotor couldn’t see his father, but he knew the look that he carried.

“Mercy is for the weak.” The end of the sentence was punctuated with another swipe of the sword. Lotor tried to look away again, but the sight of crimson running down her throat drew him in. The cut wasn't deep enough to end the scene, the blood dripped out slower after a few tics. This was more than entertainment for the masses, this was an example for anyone who turns their back on the empire -- this was for Lotor.

Hands grabbed his arms, pulling him away from the bars of the gate. His hands gripped the corroding metal till the blood drained from his fingertips. Lotor was not going to leave his general behind, not again. Fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard in an attempt to control him. The yanking continued, some strands snapped under the stress.

More hands joined in, hands pried his grip open, hands knotted into his hair, hands grabbed his throat. His airways slowly closing with the restraining fists, and the fear in his throat growing.

Lotor finally let go.

The scene became distant, but Ezor’s screams were as loud as ever. What was next, a hand? Or was it a cut down the spine, revealing the bone beneath? They were leaving the best for last.

Lotor struggled as he was brought up a set of stairs. He stopped, he didn’t need a fall down the metal steps, his bones couldn't take it, his gut definitely wouldn't be able to take it.

The sound of the masses began to echo down the corridor, the artificial light of the arena was blinding. They came up in the Imperial Box; concubines lazed around the area, they were treated better than those sitting in the cells. Lotor waited for his father to acknowledge his presence. The guard kicked the back of his legs.

“You have nothing left,” Zarkon rumbled, the concubine at his feet shifted as he stood up, “Everything that you have, has been destroyed. Do you have anything else to say?” Ezor’s scream ripped through the arena, breaking through their silent standoff.

As long as he was here, alive and breathing, there is still a possibility of him getting out. “I’ll get back up, we both know this.”

Zarkon’s eyes narrowed at the response.

“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

 

Lotor’s days dragged out. His doors didn’t open when he heard the next round of feet heading to their death. The doors stopped opening after a couple days, his food stopped with it. A few days without it turned everything into a haze, time stopped existing. Lotor tried to get over the groggy headaches that came and went, but his body stopped responding to his requests to move. Every time he heard footsteps approach his door, Lotor’s eyes snapped open; he listened to see where they stopped. They got closer, closer, closer, then they stopped. Lotor felt the weakness of his pulse as he held his breath. Their steps fell in time with his heartbeat as they marched away, taking the hope of food with them.

Lotor closed his eyes again, imagining what type of torture his father has waiting for him. His head started to hurt with just the act of thinking. Everything in his body was screaming for him to stop fighting. He looked up at the camera, wondering who on the other end has the privilege to witness his suffering.  

The doors finally opened, but there wasn't anyone of his interest to greet him. Haggar stood in the opening, flanked by her droids, holding a platter. She shuffled into the filthy cell, that probably reeked of stagnation and death, looking down on Lotor with disgust. The once proud prince - the heir to the throne - was sitting at her feet. She dropped the platter at his side, some of its contents spilled on to the metal floor.

The smell was strong, the smell of childhood luxuries and forgotten meals that he enjoyed when he traveled the empire with his generals. It made him want to vomit.

“Is this my last meal?” Lotor hoped it was his last. He wanted his failure to be over while he held no energy to go against it. Nothing ever goes to Lotor’s plans. He took a handful of the meal, shoving it through parched lips. The taste made his stomach groan, it was sickeningly sweet. The flavor coated his mouth, making him forget the dryness that persisted.

Haggar just looked on, watching Lotor turn to his animalistic nature consuming the contents of the platter, then licking it clean. Letting his tongue glide over the ornate etchings covering the plate.

Haggar left the ex-prince to his activities. There was nothing left of her only child, her pride and joy, nothing but filth and disgrace to her bloodline.  The doors materialized as she walked away, leaving her son to the devices of Zarkon

* * *

 

The cell around Lotor became distance, foggy almost; the walls seemed to melt into gray and the pulsing in his head went with it. Lotor looked around, his head lolled to the side when he heard oncoming of more footsteps. The world followed in slow motion; his eyelids grew heavy as the doors opened, his limbs were lifted by the strength a few guards. He was dragged out of the cell by his arms, he watched as the place he called home, for god knows how long, disappeared behind the corner.

He was hoisted on to a steel table, the cold bit into his skin. Staps bound his wrists down. His body felt free, he felt like every part of his physical being was being left behind. This was it, this was the end for him.


End file.
